The word ‘Superficial’ has a certain negative connotation, but that’s the point.

Even back in 2015, it was a reminder to myself, that no matter how ‘Superficial’ my life looks to the outside world; the clothes, the attitude, the brand…I’m still just me, beyond the bags, shoes, and travel. It’s all just superficial, but it absolutely is to be enjoyed.

It’s fashion week. I’ve been glued to my September issue of French Vogue: Collections.

20 years ago, I was a penurious little girl who hovered over those magazines on the floor at Barnes & Noble, studying the glamorous, tangible representations of wealth, soaking in brand knowledge like I was dying of thirst.

I would have done anything to be one of those girls in the magazines.

I would have done anything to buy one of the magazines.

I’m perched on the windowsill, overlooking the Hudson on this quiet, misty evening. I find myself collecting old issues of Vogue, Elle, and Vanity Fair, from work, as there is a plethora that would otherwise be tossed in the bin. I take them home and store them in my cabinets. I want to collect hundreds and decorate my walls with them.

Because, hidden between those glossy, superficial pages, is the very dream, the microscopic ideologies, that another world existed outside of my bounds, outside of my four brothers, and the litany of farm animals.

Those magazines are a representation of who I was, who I wanted to be, and who I became.

That little girl whose parents couldn’t afford the magazines, well, now she’s wearing the clothes that are splattered across the pages. Now she’s sitting on the sidelines of those same fashion shows and panels she only fantasized about, in a marginalized portion of a sharp, glossy page.

As they say, “If you are not very careful, your possessions will possess you.”

To me, being Superficial is the ultimate moniker of success: Having it ‘All’ and knowing it’s not ‘Everything.’